The "cage man" whistled softly to himself as he reflected that the awful day of confessing to Honey was deferred for an indefinite period. It was a respite. But what gave him profound satisfaction was the fact that McLaughlin and Perkins were beginning to realize that he could do something besides stand in a cage and count money. They had made him their plenipotentiary, McLaughlin said. Gad! That meant full power! By jingo! He kept on whistling, which was significant, for Skinner rarely whistled. And for the first time in his career, when he smelt burning wood pulp and looked down at the line of messenger boys with a ready-made frown and caught the eyes of Mickey, the "littlest," smiling impudently at him, Skinner smiled back. For the rest of the day, as Skinner sat in his cage, three things kept running through his head: he's a curmudgeon; she's a climber; and she _doesn't_ climb. From these three things the "cage man" subconsciously evolved a proposition:-- Three persons would go to St. Paul, named in order of their importance: First, Skinner's dress suit; second, Honey; and third, Skinner. CHAPTER IX SKINNER FISHES WITH A DIPLOMATIC HOOK The first step in the scheme which Skinner had evolved for the reclamation of Willard Jackson, of St. Paul, Minnesota, was to be taken Sunday morning, after services, at the First Presbyterian Church of Meadeville, New Jersey. Skinner had not told Honey he was going to take her on his trip West. He would do that after church, if a certain important detail of his plan did not miscarry. Although he paid respectful attention to the sermon, Skinner's thoughts were at work on something not religious, and he was relieved when the doxology was finished and the blessing asked. Unlike most of the others present, Skinner was in no hurry to leave. Instead, he loitered in the aisle until Mrs. Stephen Colby overtook him on her way down from one of the front pews. "Why, Mr. Skinner, this _is_ a surprise," exclaimed the social arbiter. Then slyly, "There's some hope for you yet." "I thought I'd come in and make my peace before embarking on a railroad journey," Skinner observed. "Going away? Not for long, I hope." "St. Paul. I'm not carrying a message from the Ephesians--just a business trip." "St. Paul's very interesting." "I'm glad to hear it." "You've never been there?" "No." "Goodness--I know it well." "What bothers me is, I'm afraid Mrs. Skinner 'll find it dull. I'm taking her along. You see, I 'll have lots to do, but she does n't know anybody out there." The social arbiter pondered a moment. "But she _should_ know somebody. Would you mind if I gave her a letter to Mrs. J. Matthews Wilkinson? Very old friend of mine and very dear. You'll find her charming. Something of a bore on family. Her great-grandfather was a kind of land baron out that way." "It's mighty good of you to do that for Mrs. Skinner."